


Naiveté in Disguise

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:18:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With David and Billie's packed schedules of filming, appearances, and traveling, they hardly have time for each other, dedicating much of their time off to their families. They start meeting in secret whenever their travel routes align, and it quickly becomes a light at the end of the tunnel... but can they keep their visits platonic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naiveté in Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> LOTS OF WARNINGS. Obviously, this is RPF. It's been inspired by real-life (and fairly recent and upcoming) events. Real-life characters are mentioned, as well as terminal illness. Infidelity. Angst. But yeah, if your soul is in this forbidden d/b shipping hell with mine and you guzzle this stuff down... A lot of this stuff has been weighing on me and it's been a while since I wrote RPF, so I really needed to get this one off my chest.

His system wasn’t sustainable.

Night shoots and red-eye flights. Filming in New York, an awards show in Glasgow. A convention in Raleigh, a premiere in London. Filming some more. Radio interview here, audiobook recording there. Trips to California when the kids came to visit.

Dozens of hotel layouts blurred together until he was getting lost in the hallways. He calculated the new time difference every day so he made sure to call his dad at a reasonable hour. Jumped on a plane home whenever he had two days off in a desperate attempt to stay a good husband.

A questionable third season and reprised stage role were against his better judgment, but he’d go mad waiting for bad news if he didn’t keep himself busy. Contracts kept coming, and he hardly turned any of them down.

But it wasn’t sustainable, and he knew it. He was about to break, one way or another.

\---

A pulse of vibration on his chest startled him from half-consciousness. A curse fell from his lips as he collected the wrinkled pile of script pages under his arm and set them on the armrest of the couch. Cursed himself again for leaving his phone on bloody vibrate. He wiped a bit of drool from his cheek with the back of his hand and grabbed the phone, meaning to turn off vibration and head to his cramped bedroom for the night (early, for the first time in weeks).

\- I’m in the area tomorrow. Want to meet up? -

It was from Billie.

He scrambled to a sitting position and lifted his droopy eyelids to double check the text, his spirits lifting with the corner of his mouth.

\- YES - he typed back in seconds, not pausing to ask questions or worry how he’d find the time in the middle of a full day of shooting. He hadn’t seen her in _ages_. Her schedule seemed about as hectic and geographically unstable as his lately, back and forth between the States and home. If anyone could understand how tough it was to be a dressed-up yo-yo with a string about to snap, it was Billie.

She sent back a smiling emoji.

He might have felt embarrassed for the outburst, but she was his best mate and he knew he had no reason to be – she’d understand.

\- Coffee around 11? -

His thumbs mashed out ‘sounds p’, but then froze over the keyboard when her three little gray typing dots appeared again.

\- Text me the address. Oh and you can pick the place, Mr. Bad Boy -

She’d been teasing him about this role for a while. He erased the ‘sounds’.

\- Perfect. - He added the little purple devil face he’d been wanting to use for weeks now, smirking only to himself and the crowded walls of the otherwise unoccupied trailer. He sent the address, too, before sprawling across the couch on his back, holding his phone against his chest like a lifeline. A sort of joyful peace washed over him as he closed his eyes, and he smiled despite himself as he surrendered to the feeling.

He supposed the couch really was more comfortable than the bed in this place, anyway.

\---

A few tactful, well-timed words freed up his early afternoon for her; they switched around the schedule to do his scenes last. He wouldn’t be able to use an excuse as simple as ‘a friend from out of town who’s only in for the day’ again in the future, but he’d have time to think of a better one next time, if there was one.

She was impeccable in tight black jeans and short, messy hair, yelling his name when she caught sight of him, skipping to meet him with so much excitement he seriously considered skipping, too. She dropped her carry-on bags at his feet before leaping into a hug, and he crushed his arms around her as he steadied them on the concrete.

“Where’s your purple skin?” She kissed his cheek before pulling away, and warmth blossomed under his skin where her lips touched.

“Not wearing it today.” He chuckled.

“Might be an improvement. You’re looking awfully pale these days, Teninch.” Her smirk gave her away as she looked him up and down.

“I’ve got to be pale, I’m…” He smoothed his hand over his hair dramatically, squinting his eyes into slits like a terrible villain from an superhero cartoon. “Evil.”

He broke out into laughter with her.

“It’s good to see you, Bill.”

And God, it was. Her smile and her bright eyes and chimes of laughter and kindness. It’d been too long since he’d had a proper mate to spend time with away from home, and it lifted an enormous weight from his chest. Melted away the stress of traveling and filming and everything else about his overbooked schedule. Just for now, he didn’t have to strain himself to keep up a constant façade of cheerfulness. He simply embraced the effervescent happiness he had always found in her company, effortless and natural.

“You too, Dave.”

Both their warm drinks turned cold as they filled each other in on the last few months.

She left for her flight back to London, but her energy stayed with him. The crew was really quite upset when he botched his menacing stare for the fifth time, unable to stop thinking about how she’d laughed at him when he practiced the gaze on her in the café.

\- I already miss you - she texted him that night.

\- Me too, Bills. -

\---

They developed a tenuous arrangement.

If their paths crossed within fifty miles or so, they never failed to meet up, even if only for an hour. She just understood, everything. The constant jet lag, the recycled fan questions, how impossible it seemed to be a good parent when you couldn’t ethically drag your kids halfway across the globe with you every week.

He couldn’t be sure he was helping her in the same way, but their visits gave him something to consistently look forward to, even in the midst of a hectic week of traveling. It was more of a tacit agreement that they planned their stops and the length of layovers to facilitate many of these meetings, something they both silently acknowledged but never brought up.

Sometimes, they could only meet outside the airport for half an hour. Others they’d have longer. They could take a walk through Central Park. Get dinner.

“Do you tell her? That we meet up?” she asked suddenly through a mouthful of their shared slice of cheesecake. His jaw stiffened through his own bite, and he was silent for much longer than the small morsel required, stealing more time for himself by chewing as slowly as possible. Though he searched the depths of her eyes for the answer she wanted, only mystery emanated from them as she sat, waiting.

“Sometimes.” He set his fork down and leaned back against his chair, worsening the evasive response with the added distance.

“Dave.” It was a scold if he ever heard one, her jaw set hard, but her eyes were soft now, revealing vulnerability he couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of. He huffed in defeat, but amended his answer.

“Once.”

“When?”

“The first time.”

She tried to meet his gaze but he dropped his eyes to the plate.

“Do you tell him?” he countered, still not raising his eyes.

She dropped her fork, sighing heavily as she considered what to say.

“No.”

“Well, there we are, then.” He looked up, shrugging and hoping they could be done with the conversation.

“That it? We’re gonna keep secrets from them now?” She was upset, forehead scrunched up and the first sparks of anger in her eyes. Leaning forward, he rested his weight on the table with his forearms, creating an aura of heightened privacy in the crowded dining room. The hushed tones of the other patrons quieted to nothing as he focused all his attention on her.

“Bill, I don’t –”

“What are we doing here, Dave?” Something Billie had always done exceptionally well was cut to the chase, skip the hedging and diplomatic buildup and speak her mind before he had to guess its contents.

“Nothing,” he blurted too soon. It was impossible to ignore her plea for a real answer, when she put all her cards on the table like this.

“Nothing?” She raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“No, not nothing, we’re just –” He rubbed a hand down his face as he rummaged through his brain for a way to recover from the blunder. “Spending time together. As mates. That’s all.”

“Then why haven’t you told her?”

“Why haven’t you?” he spat back. He caught himself, wincing at his own harsh tone. “I’m sorry.” He buried his face in one large hand, sighing at himself.

“I don’t think he’d believe it was innocent.” Shocked that she responded to the outburst, his head snapped up. The implications of her statement were clear: both of their spouses knew about their former, though unofficial relationship, and spending too much time alone had gotten them interrogated in the past. 

“It is, though.” No matter what the context, he couldn’t lose her from his life. She’d once called them soul mates, and he couldn’t disagree.

“I know.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” Even if they were only platonic soul mates, he’d take it happily so long as he could keep seeing her.

“I know.”

“It’s been brilliant, being able to see you. I’ve missed you, Bill.” So much that it physically hurt.

“Missed you too.” Their hands clasped on the table, thumbs massaging in circles of reassurance. Their last night of intimacy, almost nine years ago now, replayed in vivid detail in his mind when she didn’t let go right away. The glazed-over longing in her distant eyes told him she was there with him in the taboo memory.

But nothing was going to happen. They’d come this far, come almost nine years without slipping into old patterns. And his family was too important to him to… and _she_ was too important to him to jeopardize it all.

It was just coffee and chatting. Dinner and catching up.

It was innocent.

Their parting hug lasted longer than usual, and he kissed her hair before he pulled away.

“Don’t let that concierge bloke at the airport seduce you,” she reminded him as he got into a cab.

“I’ll do my best to resist.”

Her smile was the last image he had before he closed the door, and he knew they were going to be all right.

\---

The months went by.

They screeched at each other over the phone when they both agreed to a con in Pennsylvania, a chance to spend a day together without having to keep it a secret.

She accidentally kissed him on the mouth as she said goodbye one afternoon, after two glasses of wine. He waved his hand and brushed it off, clearing the air before she could apologize. It was a simple mistake. They were close; closer than any other opposite-gendered friends he could think of off the top of his head. A little alcohol and slip-ups were bound to happen.

It was still innocent.

\---

Things hadn’t been going very well, the night she happened to be in Brooklyn. But the invitation to watch the rebooted Daredevil on Netflix was impossible to resist. He’d been talking about watching it for weeks, curious about the fate of his own Marvel show (and still a comic book nerd to the core).

They’d already laid out the ground rules, after all. They’d be fine. It was a first for them, in eight-plus years, but they trusted each other. Well, if they didn’t, they would never have ended up in this clandestine arrangement anyway, sneaking around to be able to see each other twice a month just for the psychological solace that their amicable meetings fueled them with. Their friendship kept them strong, got them through otherwise unbearably packed schedules. They had too much to lose to even consider it another way.

And that’s how they wound up eating room service on the single bed in her room, the drapes closed and the blind crime fighter the only rational thing keeping them tethered to fidelity.

The problem was, she always knew when something was up.

His responses were too short for two consecutive episodes, even after he’d finished his plate and they’d both slowly become horizontal, lying with two feet between them on the mattress, eyes glued on the screen and never straying.

She sat up, clicking the pause button on her laptop before rolling onto her stomach, cupping her chin in her hands and turning her full attention to him.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, tender apprehension in her voice.

“It’s nothing.” He turned his stare back to the frozen screen, but knew she wouldn’t drop it so easily.

“Dave, tell me.” She tugged roughly on his shirt, forcing him to confront the depth of concern in her eyes again.

His heart swelled at the sight, and for a fleeting moment he wished he could see it more often: her, asking him what was wrong after she’d taken her makeup off and put a baggy t-shirt on, sprawled across a bed they shared.

He mentally slapped himself and spilled out the truth.

“Got a call from my sister, this morning. Doctor said he’s getting worse.” He swallowed hard, gulping down other words he wanted to say, not particularly wanting to talk further about it. Her sympathy wasn’t what he was craving: just being with her put his mind at ease.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, her hand linking with his on the sheet. Just this simple gesture felt so good he squeezed her palm, thanking her for the support with a few gentle swipes of his thumb.

“It’s all right. I talked to him, earlier. It’s not so bad yet.”

She didn’t know what to say, from the way she chewed the inside of her lip and her eyes flitted from him to the walls to the paused screen.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.

“Not really, no.”

Okay, so he was being a typical bloke. But he got to see her so rarely, he only wanted their nights together to be about the two of them in their safe little bubble, not about the problems they had to face once they popped it and went off in different directions again.

“Is there anything I can do?” She wasn’t put off by the wall he’d just built, she just tried a different path.

“Just being here, helps a lot.” His cheeks heated up with the confession, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. “But thank you.”

They continued watching, and she found ways to make him laugh despite the situation. She was incredible, his best mate. That radiant smile, the one he always insisted could bring about world peace if only everyone saw it in person, the one that did wonders for his mental health. The way she teased him every chance she got, but softened the blow with playful touches and compliments so he found himself loving the teasing, rather than resenting it.

“I should get going,” he sighed after the fifth episode, after a glance at his phone told him it was after midnight. “We’re starting early tomorrow.”

“’Kay,” she agreed quietly, stopping the next episode before it could start automatically.

Getting ready to leave didn’t take nearly long enough. He trudged over to the door, slipped on his shoes, and grabbed his keys from the nightstand, and had already run out of things to do to delay leaving.

“Lovely to see you, as always.” His arms spread open for her as he stood at the foot of the bed.

She cuddled against his chest as her arms wrapped around his back, and he breathed heavily as he fought the burgeoning instinct to push her back onto the bed. Little chemical signals kept firing when she refused to release him, whispering that it was a good idea, tempting him, telling him how _fucking_ good it would feel. Her hands made little swirling patterns on his back and her cheek brushed against his shirt, like she was testing out the fabric, getting a feel for where she’d rest her head if she fell asleep on his chest.

The next time, when she tried to ease them out of the embrace, he tightened his grip instead. She moaned a little, an audible reminder she didn’t want him to walk out the door any more than he did, and he bit his tongue to keep from echoing the sound. He buried his nose in her hair, cinnamon and honey clouding his judgment further, tuning his other senses to focus on her, to stop resisting.

He delved into memories of what her skin felt like, kneaded the pads of his thumbs into the back of her t-shirt, trying to remember as much as feel its texture through the fabric. His heart thudded too fast against his ribs just next to her ear, and he knew she could hear it, that its wild beat was only for her. Her breathing was fast and ragged though she tried to inhale and exhale quietly, unsure of how to go back from this.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a hug earlier?” she whispered, shattering the intimacy of the moment. She was giving him an easy out, a friendly way to excuse the line he’d just crossed.

He chuckled humorlessly and took his chance, letting her go.

He turned to leave, to say his parting words and not turn back, to shut the door on temptation because something had just clicked in his mind: this, whatever it was between them, was never innocent.

But she made a fist in his shirtsleeve, holding him hostage. He closed his eyes as he turned to face her, hoping the lack of a visual would strengthen his resolve.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?”

It didn’t sound like an amorous invitation; she only sounded worried about him.

“I can’t.” He meant for the words to sound final and certain, but they came out as more of a whine.

“I don’t want you to be alone tonight, is all.”

“Bill, I can’t.” It sounded stronger, but his will was crumbling. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“I can sleep over on the sofa. Please. I want you to stay.”

He didn’t answer, just struggled to keep his breathing under control.

He didn’t want to be alone tonight, either.

She was about to pull back, to give up and accept that he wouldn’t answer, but he pulled her into another crushing hug. Her words had completely dissolved his determination to leave. If he had one weakness, it was that he couldn’t resist her when she added ‘please’ to anything.

So he just held her, mostly to put her lips out of his mouth’s reach. She held him back, her hands rubbing up and down his shirt again, face pressed into his collarbone.

But a switch inside him had already flipped, had turned all the reasons he shouldn’t touch her into garbled mush.

His head turned to press a soft kiss to the side of her neck, and she gasped.

He stilled, deciding whether to do it again when a soft pair of lips pressed against his throat, lingering for only a moment before they disappeared.

In retaliation his mouth found her skin again, lips parting at the base of her neck in a sloppier kiss than the first, brushing a trail to her hairline, searching… until she let out a soft whimper and her hands fisted in his shirt, and he knew he’d found the right spot.

She kissed her way up his neck this time, open and messy kisses that made him exhale with relief as he straightened, tilting his head back, encouraging her.

Her name on his lips, though, it seemed, was too much.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, rocking back on her heels, attempting an escape.

He attempted to form words for an apology, too, or else find some way to tell her it was okay, that they could recover from this, that he was tired and they were both a bit vulnerable and he wasn’t upset. Time sped up around him and his head swam with possibilities and consequences and indecision and most of all the tingling on his neck where her lips had just touched.

Before he could get a rational grip on what to do, his sensible logic slipped from his clutches, his hands were on her face and he was kissing her.

Her jaw dropped in shock and his lips were already loosely parted, and the wet, hot openness of it made it more intense than he was prepared for. He eased them into it, slow at first, hesitant, tantalizing with light pressure, pulling back when she pushed forward. Every delicate tug of her lips over his tugged at the chains inside him that stopped him from doing this years earlier.

Her hands clasped around his neck and she hauled him closer, her kisses rougher and deeper and then her fingers were burying themselves in his hair and he moaned, too far gone to uphold the precedent of silence.  

Leaning back onto the bed supported by his arms, she sank into the mattress as they sank into one another, emptying their minds of every reality outside the bubble, only existing within its refuge.

A small voice in the back of his mind reprimanded him for his foolishness. The friendly underground meetings were always leading them here. They could steer clear of the paparazzi, and they could evade their spouse’s questions, but they couldn’t have avoided this.

It was no secret they were still attracted to each other: she made no attempts to hide her affection for him from the public, and he had nothing but flattering compliments for her whenever he was asked. They had the history, the closeness, the emotional connection. They became almost desperate to see each other after only a couple months apart – the sort of desperation that could only come with a love that ran deeper than friendship. Stress made them both too candid with their emotions, too susceptible to enticement. Their confidence that nothing would or _could_ ever happen was ridiculous, in hindsight. Naiveté disguised as innocence.

Even that internal voice faded into static as he pulled the clothes off the gorgeous blonde beneath him, his best mate that he admired and respected and loved and _God_ , he needed her. He’d needed her since the last time they’d done this. Needed to kiss and touch and taste and watch her shatter for him. To hear his name that way only she could say it, all breathy and laced with desire as it tumbled from her lips.

He bent to his knees and worshiped her, his head bowed between her legs, and she came _so fucking hard_ from his tongue, hips thrashing and her arm over her mouth to stop from screaming, it must have been months since she had it this good.

She returned the favor, taking him in so deep and hot and _wet_ ,teeth tugging and tongue swirling until he choked on his sobs into a pillow as he spurted in her mouth, shuddering with pleasure as she swallowed him down.

She climbed up his body and kissed him lazily until his breathing slowed.

“You used to last longer, old man.”

“Shut up,” he growled as he flipped them over, pinning her underneath him with his hands on her wrists.

“I wasn’t prepared for this. For you. Fuck, Bill, you make me so…” he trailed off suggestively as he bent down to kiss her again, the playful hunger making his lips rough and sloppy against hers.

He lasted plenty long enough, when he was inside her, savoring the warm, slick tightness around him, brushing kisses over her neck and her lips, drawing it out for her. It wasn’t until she pulled her knees to her chest, shifting the angle of their coupling, and his fingers danced over her clit that she pulsed and clenched around him. The sound of his name in a hoarse cry snapped the tension inside him and he spilled into her, incoherent exhalations of praise and devotion on his lips.

They curled up under the sheets, after, too exhausted too talk, too satisfied for nightmares.

\---

“Shit,” he breathed as he checked his phone wearily, squinting at the bright light in the still-black room.

He had exactly seven minutes to be on set.

“Bills,” he shout-whispered, tapping her shoulder with the back of his hand. She groaned miserably but opened her eyes, turning on the bedside lamp and shrinking away from the ensuing light.

“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry,” he said as he climbed out of bed, rushing around the room for his clothes. “Must’ve slept through my alarm. Did you hear it?”

“What time is it?” she slurred, ignoring his question.

“Almost seven.”

She rolled out of bed, pulled the oversized shirt over her head, and staggered to the loo while he sat on the bed to wrestle his socks and shoes on. He loitered around until she emerged, rather than shouting a farewell through the door.

“Have a safe flight. Text me when you land.” He bent down for a peck on the lips but she turned, making his lips bounce off her cheek. Guessing she was worried about morning breath, he ignored the pang of hurt it set off in his gut.

“I’ll see you soon?” He phrased it as a question, in the wake of the tiny rejection.

She stared down at the industrial carpet, a grimace contorting her lips, leaving him waiting with one hand on the door handle.

“I don’t know,” she breathed finally. His hand dropped.

“What?” He gaped at her.

“Look, we made a huge mistake. We can’t –”

She tried to walk past him towards the bed, but he fell against the wall, blocking her path.

“Mistake?” he repeated, pathetically. “I thought you –”

“You thought I what? Wanted to cheat on my husband? Betray my family for you?”

“No, of course not –”

“It could have been anyone, last night, couldn’t it? It just happened to be me, because I was in the neighborhood.”

“Jesus Christ, Bill, what are you on about, anyone!? I trust _you_. I only ever want to see you. I wanted to talk to you. _You_ asked me what was wrong, and I wanted to be honest. It’s not like I had some master scheme to get pity sex from you,” he spat out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She rested her forehead in her hands, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I’m just… the guilt. It’s gonna eat me alive.”

“Bills.” He reached one of her hands, and she let him take it. “I would never… I didn’t mean to… You’re my best mate. I _love_ you –”

“Stop,” she shook her head, closing her eyes to will back tears. “I don’t think we should keep meeting like this.”

“Don’t,” he begged. “Don’t say you don’t want to see me anymore.”

“You know I love you, Dave. But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Please.” His voice was thick with unshed tears, his eyes burning with it.

“What’s the alternative, honestly? Where do we go from here?”

“Anywhere else. I can’t… I need you. I don’t care how, we don’t have to… we can go back. Just friends again, all right? I don’t care, I just… can’t lose you now.” His voice cracked as the first drops of moisture escaped his eyes.

That’s what broke her.

“David.” Moisture spilled over her own eyes as she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around him and hugging him fiercely. “Please don’t be upset,” she sobbed against his shoulder.

“Can’t lose you,” he pleaded again with shaky breaths.

“Okay, okay. Shh…” she whispered.

She let him hold her for a while, and he completely forgot about being in a hurry to head back to set.

“We’ll work it out.” She pulled back and grabbed him by the shoulders before kissing him on the cheek.

“Okay.” He nodded, clearing his head and wiping his eyes. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been a bit out of sorts lately. Not getting much sleep.”

“I can tell.”

He cleared his throat, straightening himself.

“So. See you soon?” he repeated his earlier statement, confident in a better response.

“I’ll see you in Philly. It’s not that far away, now.”

“Right, yeah.” He smiled for the first time that morning, mostly for her benefit, and it felt good to use those muscles after being upset.

“So, see you then.” He held out his hand for a professional goodbye, but she just stood there, covering her mouth with one hand like she was about to laugh.

“Fuck,” she muttered before she came at him again. Pinned him against the door and snogged him completely out of his wits.

And just as suddenly, she backed away, leaving him staring after her in a half-aroused haze.

“Now go, you’re already late.” She shooed him out the door with her hand.

“It’s not just me,” He asserted out, thrusting a finger at her accusingly.

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “Just wanted to do it one last time.”

She smiled at him as he opened the door, but it was uncertain, like she wasn’t sure if she should be laughing or crying.

“We’re gonna be okay, Bill. I promise.”

“I trust you.” Her smile was genuine, this time, but a layer of regret still seeped through, sullying the optimistic expression.

“We’ll talk about it, at the con,” he offered.

“Yeah.”

With one more smile for her, he closed the door behind himself.

The crippling shame hit him with full force once he was alone in the hallway, further knocking him from the insane high of making love the night before.

But he even had to chuckle to himself at her choice of words, during the cab ride back to set.

_One last time._

After the way she threw him against that door, he couldn’t help but think they’d thrown innocence out the window for good.


End file.
